It’s a balmy Sunday afternoon in London, toward the end of an unusually hot June. We were at a wedding last night. Due to antibiotic-induced teetotalism, there’s not a hangover in sight. Instead, Tom capitalised on the situation and saved on a taxi by driving us back from Hampshire in the middle of the night….

First dog-walking class. I think that the puppy has a streak of the devil in her. It couldn’t come soon enough. Running late, so carry her to the class. It takes twice as long to walk anywhere. Put her down and she clamps her jaw round the lead trying to wrench it out of my hand. “We’ll start by going round the group — and if you can all say a little something about yourselves …” the teacher says, looking at me, nudging.

“I’m Rachel, this is my first dog,” I say, holding the lead aloft, with the snarling terrier dangling from it, still playing tug-of-war. Immaculate black spaniel pup next to us looks very smug. His owner says that it’s her ninth dog. Did a swift calculation and don’t think that works out at a favourable lifespan though. She doesn’t look older than mid-thirties. Perhaps spaniel shouldn’t look so smug.

Luckily there’s a nervous-looking Shar Pei who might share bottom-of-the-class spot with Tonka, meaning that she isn’t a complete dunce. Relief to get back home – particularly to this summer quiche, an ode to leftovers.

I’m not a rampant consumer of dairy, so was confused to find a part-used carton of buttermilk, crème fraiche and cottage cheese in my fridge. Couldn’t remember what on earth I had been using them for … but a cursory sniff indicated that I couldn’t have been cooking with them too long ago. Scraped them all into this quiche filling and cleared a scrap more space in the fridge, which is otherwise taken over by huge jars of elderflower cordial, as Campden tablets seem to be lost in the post.

One of the joys of this recipe is that pretty much any combination of dairy will work – it’s a great way to use up leftovers before they begin to grow fluff, and if you fall short, then add a slosh of milk. The frozen spinach and jar of sun dried tomatoes will hint how disinclined I felt to leave the house yesterday. Good news is that it didn’t reflect in this tasty dinner.

Sieve the flour into a mixing bowl, add the salt and cubed butter. Use your fingertips to ‘rub’ it together until it resembles breadcrumbs. Add 1 tsp of water, and use one hand to scrunch the pastry into a ball. Only use the other teaspoon of water if it’s not coming together.

Use a knob of butter to grease the pie dish, and dust a worktop with plain flour. Roll out roll out the pastry, line the pie dish, crimp the sides and then pop it in the freezer, to quickly chill while you make the filling.

Defrost the spinach in the microwave and then press it against the sieve to make sure that all the moisture is removed. Meanwhile, mix the sundried tomatoes, buttermilk (or dairy comination), eggs and spices in a bowl. Stir the spinach into the mixture. Tip it into a pie dish. Cook for 20-25 minutes, until the quiche has puffed-up.

NOTE | A note on cooking. If you cook quiches on the floor of the roasting oven of an AGA then the direct heat will ensure that the base of the tart cooks. One alternative is to sit the quiche on a hot pizza stone, otherwise it’s best to blind bake it before putting in the filling.

There’s obvious romance in Italian and French cuisine: Parisian cafes, and Tuscan trattorias awash with Beaujolais and Borolo. The air thick with truffles, tongues teased by silken crème caramel and nights ebbing with each short, bitter sip of Fernet Branca.

Just across the border – in Germany and Austria – the romance stops dead. It’s hard to flirt over sauerkraut and spätzle, or to canoodle over a Knödel….

Meet Rachel

Hello, I'm Rachel Walker, an editor and food writer across national publications. If you’re interested in reading my cuttings, then click here →This blog is a little online space which I set up in 2011, to record some of my favourite recipes and experiments – from smoking salmon in a dustbin, to bringing lambs' tongues. Read more about my culinary adventures by clicking here →